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mithenTitle: On the Road Again
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Maxwell Lord, Guy Gardner, Edward Nygma, Amanda Waller
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion (click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 3400
Summary: With their feud over, Clark and Bruce go their separate ways at work--until Max asks them to put in some time at a colleague's new promotion as a favor.
I asked Owen Hart how his match with the Beast had gone. Owen said, “He’s a nice guy.”
I stopped and called to Owen, who was walking away. “Owen, I didn’t ask you what kind of guy he was, I asked how the match went.”
Owen smiled and gave his little chuckle, which I will miss hearing very much. The answer came back, “He’s a really nice guy.” --Mick Foley
Max Lord drummed his fingers on his desk. "Newark canceled," he said. "No show there next weekend."
Guy Gardner's groan was echoed by most of the wrestlers in the room. "Max, that's the third cancellation in three months!"
Max looked grim. "I know."
"Where are we gonna get our paychecks from, man?"
"Look." Max held up his hands in a placating motion. "I've got a friend starting up a little promotion in Pittsburgh. She said she'd love to have a few of you on loan to get her promotion a quick boost for a few weeks. How about it?"
"She?" Guy raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, Amanda and I go way back," Max said. "Not like that," he sputtered at Booster's look. "She's starting up a new promotion, calls it the Suicide Squad. Figures if she can drum up attention with some known names, it'll help."
"Wait," said Guy. "Not Amanda Waller? The Wall herself?" He let out a low whistle. "Well, if any gal can do it, she can. I'm in."
"Do call her a 'gal' when you're working for her," Max said with an unpleasant smile. "If she's in a very good mood, she might even spring for postage to ship your corpse back to me."
"Well, I'm willing to go," said Clark. "I need the money." To tell the truth, the last couple of months had been hard. After his feud with Bruce ended, he'd ended up wrestling with different people, but no angle had materialized. Bruce's angle with Harvey against Guy had lasted a few matches, but Clark could tell they didn't enjoy working with him very much and eventually Bruce had been written out of the storyline. Now they were both bouncing around the roster aimlessly, fighting whoever needed an opponent, never working together.
"I'll go too," said Bruce abruptly. Clark blinked at him. They hadn't exactly been ignoring each other, but Bruce had become formal and distant around him, as if, without the wrestling together to connect them, he wasn't sure exactly how to interact with him. "I've got a...well, acquaintance who's heading out to do some work with her too. The four of us can carpool."
"Whatever works," said Max. "Meanwhile, I'll be working on doing whatever it takes to save this promotion."
: : :
The sun had barely cleared the horizon as Clark stood in the parking lot of the gym, huddled into his winter coat, squinting against the morning light.
"Where's Bruce?" grumbled Guy, scuffling his boots against the icy pavement. "He's late."
"He'll be here," said Clark. "He's picking up the fourth guy." "You'll like him," Bruce had said to Guy when asked about him, a statement that Clark would later look back on with annoyance and wonder how Bruce had hid his smirk.
"Look," said Clark, "Here he is."
"A Lexus? Damn," Guy said as the bright red car pulled in. The trunk popped open as it pulled up to them and Guy and Clark crammed their suitcases into it.
"Give the front seat up to Kent, Eddie," said Bruce as Clark opened the back seat door.
"What? But I was here first!" There was a brief silence, and then the front door opened and a wiry guy in a green sweater got out of the car. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, holding out his hand, "Edward Nygma." He looked back into the car. "I'll just let you have the honor of riding shotgun with Mr. Death Glare here."
"Eddie and I wrestled together for a few months in a Gotham-based promotion years ago," Bruce said as he pulled off onto the road. "He's hoping to get a full-time contract with Waller."
"We'll see if she's got an opening for a comedy heel," Eddie said. "Not much in demand at the moment."
"The Riddler's a good gimmick," Bruce said. "Excellent psychology."
"Pfft. Too bad more people don't agree with you," Eddie said.
"Wayne, why are you driving a Lexus?" Guy asked.
Bruce made a considering sound. "The Lamborghini was a little too small, and the Rolls seemed a bit much."
"Ha ha, very funny," said Guy. "But if you've got a Lexus, no wonder you need to be scrounging money on trips like this. The payments must be brutal."
"Billionaire Brucie can't be seen tooling around in a Kia, Guy." Bruce turned on the blinker and merged onto the I-76 highway. "Well, here we go." He glanced over at Clark and almost smiled. "Ready?"
"Of course," Clark said.
Guy Gardner started to sing "On the Road Again," loudly and off-key.
: : :
"--before you came into my life I missed you so bad, and you should know that, I missed you so so bad!" warbled Guy. Clark looked at Bruce, who was sneaking glances in the rearview mirror at Eddie, clutching his head in the back seat.
"Oh God," groaned Eddie, "Won't you please turn the radio off?"
Bruce looked at Clark out of the corner of his eye and Clark burst out laughing. The corner of Bruce's mouth tilted upward, and he reached out and switched off the radio. "All right, then," he said.
"Just because you guys don't appreciate a catchy tune," grumbled Guy, pulling his legs up onto the seat and wrapping his arms around them, scowling at everyone.
"So what are you guys going to do when the JLI folds?" asked Eddie. "Oh come on," he added as the other three passengers looked at each other, "Everyone knows it's coming, it's just a matter of when and how."
"The way I see it, we've got three choices," Bruce said. "We can either try to move up to Luthor's promotion, or we can move down to something smaller like Waller's or one of the west coast promotions, or we can make a lateral move, go overseas."
"I'm talking to some folks in Japan right now," said Guy. "They like my style there."
"If it doesn't work out with Waller, I'm thinking Mexico," said Eddie. "Europe's got some good promotions too."
"I don't want to leave the east coast," Bruce murmured, looking out at the road winding west ahead of them.
"Then you gotta go with Luthor," Guy said. "You got the talent, man. You know he's been headhunting you for a year or two now." He punched Bruce's headrest lightly. "You'd be crazy not to go to work for him. Yeah, he's scum, but he's got some of the best in the world working for him. You could be one of them." He looked at Clark. "You both could."
Clark shrugged and half-chuckled, deflecting the praise. "I doubt that."
"So what will you do?" Guy asked.
"I don't know. Maybe pick up something local, closer to home. Or maybe it's just time to get out of the business altogether."
"That would be a waste," said Guy. "You're good, Clark. I can tell."
"He's right," said Bruce.
"Hey, can I get a recording of that?" Guy said. "Bruce Wayne saying I'm right about something? That's gotta be a first." He settled back in his seat. "Okay, if I'm not gonna be allowed to sing, how about some riddles?"
"Oh!" Eddie perked up. "I need some new material for my promos. Hit me. Not literally," he added as Guy cocked a fist.
"All right, what's E.T. short for?" said Guy.
Eddie rolled his eyes. "That's not a riddle, that's just trivia. It's short for 'extra-terrestrial.'"
"No, it's because he has tiny little legs," Guy said.
Eddie slumped back in his seat as Guy chortled. "You can turn the radio back on," he groaned to Bruce.
: : :
Somehow they made it to Pittsburgh without actual violence erupting in the back seat, although around Harrisburg Bruce did have to look in the rearview mirror and say dryly, "Don't make me turn this car around, boys," and they nearly got kicked out of a Cracker Barrel in New Stanton when Guy and Eddie wouldn't stop flicking their macaroni and cheese at each other.
Their motel room was impressively seedy, with wallpaper peeling from the walls and the bathtub a mass of rusty stains. "You couldn't have sprung for something a little nicer, 'Billionaire'?" said Eddie as he looked around, his lip lifted with fastidious disgust.
"I thought the point was to save as much money as possible," Bruce said.
"You better believe we wouldn't all be staying in the same room if it wasn't," Guy said, throwing his bag on the sagging bed. "Dibs on a bed. I ain't sleeping on the floor."
"Let's arm wrestle for who gets a bed," said Bruce.
Eddie looked at the three of them. "I'll just settle in on the floor and save myself the humiliation, how's that?"
Guy cracked his knuckles and sat down on one of the flimsy chairs, putting his elbow up on the table and grinning at Bruce. "You're on."
Fifteen minutes later a rather sulky Bruce Wayne was laying a pillow down in the space between the two beds, with Clark and Guy gloating from those beds.
"Don't mess with a Green Lantern--even a defrocked one--when getting to sleep in a bed is on the line," Guy said.
"Was that a bedbug?" Bruce said, gazing at the corner of Guy's bed with intense concentration.
Guy jumped to check, then grimaced and slugged Bruce with a pillow, cursing him good-naturedly.
Clark watched as Bruce wrenched the pillow from him and hurled it back, his hair falling into his eyes in disarray as he snickered at Guy. It was good to be on the road with Bruce--and with Guy, of course. It was good to spend time with him outside of the JLI's usual territory, to be able to hang out together even though they were technically foes. But it felt oddly bittersweet, and the easy rapport between the two of them seemed gone forever now that they weren't in a feud together. He swallowed hard and forced himself to laugh along with the others, his heart heavy.
Eventually they all showered and crawled into their beds, makeshift or otherwise--although not before Guy dismantled the bed thoroughly and checked every inch of it while Bruce was in the shower. Guy and Eddie kept up a running patter of riddles and insults that grew more sleepy as the clock ticked past midnight, until finally silence fell in the room.
Guy started snoring.
Clark shook his head as the headlights from the freeway swept across the ceiling , almost in rhythm with Guy's snorting breaths. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
Then he felt his bed shake slightly, as if someone had hit it gently.
"Wham," said Bruce's voice from the gap between the beds, very softly. "Wham wham."
Clark felt a smile tug at his lips. He put his hand over the edge of the bed, curled into a fist. "Wham wham wham," he whispered.
Bruce's fist touched his briefly in the dark, each knuckle a tiny point of contact. After that, somehow Clark found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep despite Guy Gardner's earth-shattering snores.
: : :
"They can't be holding the show here," said Guy as they pulled into the parking lot. "Check the information. This is, like, a high school gym."
"This is the address we were given," Bruce said stoically.
"Oh man," said Guy.
Inside, folding metal chairs four rows deep surrounded a ramshackle ring. Clark and the others edged around the gym, eyeing the audience. "Fifty people?" Eddie hissed. "We're putting on a show for fifty people?"
"We put on the best show we can no matter how few people are watching, Eddie," said Bruce.
"But fifty people?"
They entered a mildew-scented locker room and began the rounds of shaking everyone's hands. "I'm a big fan, a huge fan of your work, Mr. Gardner," said one skinny kid, pumping Guy's hand with enthusiasm. "What did I tell you, Leonard," he said to an older man with close-cropped graying hair, "Did you see the crowd? I told you with the Warrior here we'd double our audience."
Eddie stifled a groan and Guy punched him on the shoulder.
They were changing into their wrestling gear when the locker door opened and a heavy-set black woman holding a clipboard walked in. Guy yelped and pulled his trunks on hurriedly, and Amanda Waller cast him a bored look and drawled, "It would take more than that to disgust me--or to impress me, Mr. Gardner."
All of her regular wrestlers seemed unfazed at her presence, so Clark pulled on his singlet as nonchalantly as possible and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Waller."
"You must be Kent," Waller said, taking it. "Max told me you at least were partway civilized. Mr. Wayne, Mr. Nygma," she said, shaking their hands in turn. "I know the crowds aren't what you're used to, but I can guarantee you take home some money at the end of the show. Unlike Max, the Squad hasn't been running in the red."
"Max is going the best he can," grumbled Guy, and Waller raised an eyebrow.
"I don't doubt it for a minute. But I for one would find that worrisome if I were you." She shrugged. "Luckily I'm not. So here's your booking for tonight." She looked down at the clipboard. "Let me make this clear, by the way: you get minimal mic time, and you don't win clean. I didn't bring you out here to upstage my boys." She glanced up at them from under her brow, waiting until she confirmed acceptance in their expressions. "Warrior is against Captain Cold, Billionaire Brucie is against Major Victory, Kent is against Slipknot, and Riddler is against the Thinker."
Eddie was the only person who perked up at this announcement. "Oh, Carmichael is at least interesting," he said.
"Just don't waste too much time jabbering before the match. People didn't come here to see you talk, they came to see you wrestle."
Eddie's enthusiasm fell a notch, but soon enough he was in a corner with Cliff Carmichael discussing the psychology of their match. In a different corner, Bruce was earnestly explaining something to William Vickers, also known as Major Victory: a clean-cut blond in a red, white and blue leotard who Clark privately thought looked like a Captain America knockoff. Vickers looked bored and Bruce looked exasperated.
"You must be Kent." Clark turned to find a man about his size with short dark hair holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said with a pleasant smile. "I'm Christopher Weiss--Slipknot."
"Interesting name," said Clark.
"Yeah, my gimmick is that I'm some kind of martial artist, specializing in ropes." He struck a pose: "My ropes: doused in mysterious chemicals to which only I know the formula, unbreakable as steel!"
Clark laughed as he dropped the pose, grinning. "I like it."
"You okay with me calling the match?"
"You're the heel, it's your home turf--fine with me."
They talked for a while longer, swapping stories, and at the end of the conversation Clark was convinced that Christopher Weiss was a very decent guy.
Slipknot, as it turned out, was another story.
"Good grief, man, what happened to you?" Guy said as Clark gingerly pulled off his sweatshirt back in the safety of their motel room that night.
Clark looked in the mirror, grimacing at the black and blue prints all over his torso. "Weiss fights stiff, I guess."
"That's not stiff, that's rigid," said Guy. "Is he out to get you or something?"
"I don't think so. He seems like a nice guy and all. He's just no good at pulling his punches. And when he's using those ropes as flails--well, knotted ropes aren't exactly a subtle instrument."
Bruce frowned. "That's pretty incompetent," he said. He reached out and prodded one of the darker bruises on Clark's shoulder, and Clark winced. "You should ask Waller to put you with someone else."
"Yeah, she seemed like the kind of person who'd be really amenable to that," Clark said. "I'll be okay." To be honest, he was more worried Waller would pair Weiss up with one of the other visiting wrestlers: Guy was tough as nails and seemed to practically enjoy getting some real punishment, but Eddie might rupture something if he took some of Weiss's shots. And Bruce--
Clark didn't like to think of seeing Bruce covered with bruises at all, somehow.
"Hey!" Clark yelped as Guy tugged down the back of his sweatpants.
"Dude, your ass is black and blue," Guy informed him. "He actually literally kicked your ass."
"Thank you for the update, Guy. Better that side than the other," Clark said. This started Guy on a long story about how, after taking a hard fall on concrete from the top ropes, he had managed to bruise his dick, which at least managed to distract Eddie and Bruce from staring at Clark's beaten body.
But when he took his shower, he couldn't help but quickly check to make sure he hadn't met the same fate.
: : :
The Suicide Squad put on two shows a week, which gave Clark almost enough time to heal up between shows. And he had to admit the way the tiny crowd popped when he appeared--a "big time wrestler" they'd actually seen on tv--was kind of fun. The venue was...intimate, but that had its benefits．However, being a mass of bruises after each match was distinctly unpleasant, and while Weiss was a good enough guy, he wasn't a lot of fun to work with. Clark wasn't the only one not enjoying himself, either.
"Snart's okay," said Guy. "But I don't get to have any mic time, and without mic time the Warrior's just a weird-looking dude with face paint."
"Vickers is an unimaginative bore," Bruce complained as they wolfed down Thai takeout.
"You say that about everyone but Kent," Guy said.
"That's because it's true about everyone but Kent," Bruce countered calmly. "But Vickers is even worse than most people."
"At least the take is pretty good," Eddie pointed out. Eddie seemed to be the only person enjoying his matches--he and the Thinker had established a snarky, prickly chemistry that was making them both happy.
"It's true," Clark had to admit. Waller ran a tight ship, and everything was well-organized and efficient. It wasn't her fault Weiss didn't know how to pull a punch.
"How are the t-shirt sales going?" Guy said to Eddie. Especially at smaller promotions, wrestlers were allowed to put up tables hawking their merchandise--most of which were self-made, of course--and selling autographs.
"Sold another three tonight," Eddie said proudly.
"You really need a shirt," Guy said to Clark, making a motion to slug him on the arm, quickly aborted when he caught sight of the bruises again. "Nothing beats seeing fans wearing your shirt."
"Max hasn't seen fit to make one for me yet," said Clark, "Unlike certain champions and top heels I could name," he said with a grin. Warrior shirts were currently the JLI's best-seller, and even Billionaire Brucie shirts (with a fake tux on the front) were selling fairly well.
"Make your own," said Eddie, waving his green shirt dotted with question marks in the air. "It's an investment, man!"
Clark shrugged. "The autographs and photos are enough," he said. He actually loved signing autographs and posing for pictures, especially with the kids who looked at you as if you were really some kind of hero. "Besides, what would I even put on it? A cow? 'Country Clark Kent' isn't a gimmick I want associated with a shirt forever."
"You need to look ahead," Bruce said to him as Guy and Eddie started bickering about who had the better shirt design.
"I'll be happy to just make it through the next show," Clark grumbled.
Bruce took another bite of pad thai and chewed thoughtfully before speaking again. "Then I'll just have to look ahead for both of us," he said.
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Maxwell Lord, Guy Gardner, Edward Nygma, Amanda Waller
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion (click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 3400
Summary: With their feud over, Clark and Bruce go their separate ways at work--until Max asks them to put in some time at a colleague's new promotion as a favor.
I asked Owen Hart how his match with the Beast had gone. Owen said, “He’s a nice guy.”
I stopped and called to Owen, who was walking away. “Owen, I didn’t ask you what kind of guy he was, I asked how the match went.”
Owen smiled and gave his little chuckle, which I will miss hearing very much. The answer came back, “He’s a really nice guy.” --Mick Foley
Max Lord drummed his fingers on his desk. "Newark canceled," he said. "No show there next weekend."
Guy Gardner's groan was echoed by most of the wrestlers in the room. "Max, that's the third cancellation in three months!"
Max looked grim. "I know."
"Where are we gonna get our paychecks from, man?"
"Look." Max held up his hands in a placating motion. "I've got a friend starting up a little promotion in Pittsburgh. She said she'd love to have a few of you on loan to get her promotion a quick boost for a few weeks. How about it?"
"She?" Guy raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, Amanda and I go way back," Max said. "Not like that," he sputtered at Booster's look. "She's starting up a new promotion, calls it the Suicide Squad. Figures if she can drum up attention with some known names, it'll help."
"Wait," said Guy. "Not Amanda Waller? The Wall herself?" He let out a low whistle. "Well, if any gal can do it, she can. I'm in."
"Do call her a 'gal' when you're working for her," Max said with an unpleasant smile. "If she's in a very good mood, she might even spring for postage to ship your corpse back to me."
"Well, I'm willing to go," said Clark. "I need the money." To tell the truth, the last couple of months had been hard. After his feud with Bruce ended, he'd ended up wrestling with different people, but no angle had materialized. Bruce's angle with Harvey against Guy had lasted a few matches, but Clark could tell they didn't enjoy working with him very much and eventually Bruce had been written out of the storyline. Now they were both bouncing around the roster aimlessly, fighting whoever needed an opponent, never working together.
"I'll go too," said Bruce abruptly. Clark blinked at him. They hadn't exactly been ignoring each other, but Bruce had become formal and distant around him, as if, without the wrestling together to connect them, he wasn't sure exactly how to interact with him. "I've got a...well, acquaintance who's heading out to do some work with her too. The four of us can carpool."
"Whatever works," said Max. "Meanwhile, I'll be working on doing whatever it takes to save this promotion."
: : :
The sun had barely cleared the horizon as Clark stood in the parking lot of the gym, huddled into his winter coat, squinting against the morning light.
"Where's Bruce?" grumbled Guy, scuffling his boots against the icy pavement. "He's late."
"He'll be here," said Clark. "He's picking up the fourth guy." "You'll like him," Bruce had said to Guy when asked about him, a statement that Clark would later look back on with annoyance and wonder how Bruce had hid his smirk.
"Look," said Clark, "Here he is."
"A Lexus? Damn," Guy said as the bright red car pulled in. The trunk popped open as it pulled up to them and Guy and Clark crammed their suitcases into it.
"Give the front seat up to Kent, Eddie," said Bruce as Clark opened the back seat door.
"What? But I was here first!" There was a brief silence, and then the front door opened and a wiry guy in a green sweater got out of the car. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, holding out his hand, "Edward Nygma." He looked back into the car. "I'll just let you have the honor of riding shotgun with Mr. Death Glare here."
"Eddie and I wrestled together for a few months in a Gotham-based promotion years ago," Bruce said as he pulled off onto the road. "He's hoping to get a full-time contract with Waller."
"We'll see if she's got an opening for a comedy heel," Eddie said. "Not much in demand at the moment."
"The Riddler's a good gimmick," Bruce said. "Excellent psychology."
"Pfft. Too bad more people don't agree with you," Eddie said.
"Wayne, why are you driving a Lexus?" Guy asked.
Bruce made a considering sound. "The Lamborghini was a little too small, and the Rolls seemed a bit much."
"Ha ha, very funny," said Guy. "But if you've got a Lexus, no wonder you need to be scrounging money on trips like this. The payments must be brutal."
"Billionaire Brucie can't be seen tooling around in a Kia, Guy." Bruce turned on the blinker and merged onto the I-76 highway. "Well, here we go." He glanced over at Clark and almost smiled. "Ready?"
"Of course," Clark said.
Guy Gardner started to sing "On the Road Again," loudly and off-key.
: : :
"--before you came into my life I missed you so bad, and you should know that, I missed you so so bad!" warbled Guy. Clark looked at Bruce, who was sneaking glances in the rearview mirror at Eddie, clutching his head in the back seat.
"Oh God," groaned Eddie, "Won't you please turn the radio off?"
Bruce looked at Clark out of the corner of his eye and Clark burst out laughing. The corner of Bruce's mouth tilted upward, and he reached out and switched off the radio. "All right, then," he said.
"Just because you guys don't appreciate a catchy tune," grumbled Guy, pulling his legs up onto the seat and wrapping his arms around them, scowling at everyone.
"So what are you guys going to do when the JLI folds?" asked Eddie. "Oh come on," he added as the other three passengers looked at each other, "Everyone knows it's coming, it's just a matter of when and how."
"The way I see it, we've got three choices," Bruce said. "We can either try to move up to Luthor's promotion, or we can move down to something smaller like Waller's or one of the west coast promotions, or we can make a lateral move, go overseas."
"I'm talking to some folks in Japan right now," said Guy. "They like my style there."
"If it doesn't work out with Waller, I'm thinking Mexico," said Eddie. "Europe's got some good promotions too."
"I don't want to leave the east coast," Bruce murmured, looking out at the road winding west ahead of them.
"Then you gotta go with Luthor," Guy said. "You got the talent, man. You know he's been headhunting you for a year or two now." He punched Bruce's headrest lightly. "You'd be crazy not to go to work for him. Yeah, he's scum, but he's got some of the best in the world working for him. You could be one of them." He looked at Clark. "You both could."
Clark shrugged and half-chuckled, deflecting the praise. "I doubt that."
"So what will you do?" Guy asked.
"I don't know. Maybe pick up something local, closer to home. Or maybe it's just time to get out of the business altogether."
"That would be a waste," said Guy. "You're good, Clark. I can tell."
"He's right," said Bruce.
"Hey, can I get a recording of that?" Guy said. "Bruce Wayne saying I'm right about something? That's gotta be a first." He settled back in his seat. "Okay, if I'm not gonna be allowed to sing, how about some riddles?"
"Oh!" Eddie perked up. "I need some new material for my promos. Hit me. Not literally," he added as Guy cocked a fist.
"All right, what's E.T. short for?" said Guy.
Eddie rolled his eyes. "That's not a riddle, that's just trivia. It's short for 'extra-terrestrial.'"
"No, it's because he has tiny little legs," Guy said.
Eddie slumped back in his seat as Guy chortled. "You can turn the radio back on," he groaned to Bruce.
: : :
Somehow they made it to Pittsburgh without actual violence erupting in the back seat, although around Harrisburg Bruce did have to look in the rearview mirror and say dryly, "Don't make me turn this car around, boys," and they nearly got kicked out of a Cracker Barrel in New Stanton when Guy and Eddie wouldn't stop flicking their macaroni and cheese at each other.
Their motel room was impressively seedy, with wallpaper peeling from the walls and the bathtub a mass of rusty stains. "You couldn't have sprung for something a little nicer, 'Billionaire'?" said Eddie as he looked around, his lip lifted with fastidious disgust.
"I thought the point was to save as much money as possible," Bruce said.
"You better believe we wouldn't all be staying in the same room if it wasn't," Guy said, throwing his bag on the sagging bed. "Dibs on a bed. I ain't sleeping on the floor."
"Let's arm wrestle for who gets a bed," said Bruce.
Eddie looked at the three of them. "I'll just settle in on the floor and save myself the humiliation, how's that?"
Guy cracked his knuckles and sat down on one of the flimsy chairs, putting his elbow up on the table and grinning at Bruce. "You're on."
Fifteen minutes later a rather sulky Bruce Wayne was laying a pillow down in the space between the two beds, with Clark and Guy gloating from those beds.
"Don't mess with a Green Lantern--even a defrocked one--when getting to sleep in a bed is on the line," Guy said.
"Was that a bedbug?" Bruce said, gazing at the corner of Guy's bed with intense concentration.
Guy jumped to check, then grimaced and slugged Bruce with a pillow, cursing him good-naturedly.
Clark watched as Bruce wrenched the pillow from him and hurled it back, his hair falling into his eyes in disarray as he snickered at Guy. It was good to be on the road with Bruce--and with Guy, of course. It was good to spend time with him outside of the JLI's usual territory, to be able to hang out together even though they were technically foes. But it felt oddly bittersweet, and the easy rapport between the two of them seemed gone forever now that they weren't in a feud together. He swallowed hard and forced himself to laugh along with the others, his heart heavy.
Eventually they all showered and crawled into their beds, makeshift or otherwise--although not before Guy dismantled the bed thoroughly and checked every inch of it while Bruce was in the shower. Guy and Eddie kept up a running patter of riddles and insults that grew more sleepy as the clock ticked past midnight, until finally silence fell in the room.
Guy started snoring.
Clark shook his head as the headlights from the freeway swept across the ceiling , almost in rhythm with Guy's snorting breaths. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
Then he felt his bed shake slightly, as if someone had hit it gently.
"Wham," said Bruce's voice from the gap between the beds, very softly. "Wham wham."
Clark felt a smile tug at his lips. He put his hand over the edge of the bed, curled into a fist. "Wham wham wham," he whispered.
Bruce's fist touched his briefly in the dark, each knuckle a tiny point of contact. After that, somehow Clark found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep despite Guy Gardner's earth-shattering snores.
: : :
"They can't be holding the show here," said Guy as they pulled into the parking lot. "Check the information. This is, like, a high school gym."
"This is the address we were given," Bruce said stoically.
"Oh man," said Guy.
Inside, folding metal chairs four rows deep surrounded a ramshackle ring. Clark and the others edged around the gym, eyeing the audience. "Fifty people?" Eddie hissed. "We're putting on a show for fifty people?"
"We put on the best show we can no matter how few people are watching, Eddie," said Bruce.
"But fifty people?"
They entered a mildew-scented locker room and began the rounds of shaking everyone's hands. "I'm a big fan, a huge fan of your work, Mr. Gardner," said one skinny kid, pumping Guy's hand with enthusiasm. "What did I tell you, Leonard," he said to an older man with close-cropped graying hair, "Did you see the crowd? I told you with the Warrior here we'd double our audience."
Eddie stifled a groan and Guy punched him on the shoulder.
They were changing into their wrestling gear when the locker door opened and a heavy-set black woman holding a clipboard walked in. Guy yelped and pulled his trunks on hurriedly, and Amanda Waller cast him a bored look and drawled, "It would take more than that to disgust me--or to impress me, Mr. Gardner."
All of her regular wrestlers seemed unfazed at her presence, so Clark pulled on his singlet as nonchalantly as possible and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Waller."
"You must be Kent," Waller said, taking it. "Max told me you at least were partway civilized. Mr. Wayne, Mr. Nygma," she said, shaking their hands in turn. "I know the crowds aren't what you're used to, but I can guarantee you take home some money at the end of the show. Unlike Max, the Squad hasn't been running in the red."
"Max is going the best he can," grumbled Guy, and Waller raised an eyebrow.
"I don't doubt it for a minute. But I for one would find that worrisome if I were you." She shrugged. "Luckily I'm not. So here's your booking for tonight." She looked down at the clipboard. "Let me make this clear, by the way: you get minimal mic time, and you don't win clean. I didn't bring you out here to upstage my boys." She glanced up at them from under her brow, waiting until she confirmed acceptance in their expressions. "Warrior is against Captain Cold, Billionaire Brucie is against Major Victory, Kent is against Slipknot, and Riddler is against the Thinker."
Eddie was the only person who perked up at this announcement. "Oh, Carmichael is at least interesting," he said.
"Just don't waste too much time jabbering before the match. People didn't come here to see you talk, they came to see you wrestle."
Eddie's enthusiasm fell a notch, but soon enough he was in a corner with Cliff Carmichael discussing the psychology of their match. In a different corner, Bruce was earnestly explaining something to William Vickers, also known as Major Victory: a clean-cut blond in a red, white and blue leotard who Clark privately thought looked like a Captain America knockoff. Vickers looked bored and Bruce looked exasperated.
"You must be Kent." Clark turned to find a man about his size with short dark hair holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said with a pleasant smile. "I'm Christopher Weiss--Slipknot."
"Interesting name," said Clark.
"Yeah, my gimmick is that I'm some kind of martial artist, specializing in ropes." He struck a pose: "My ropes: doused in mysterious chemicals to which only I know the formula, unbreakable as steel!"
Clark laughed as he dropped the pose, grinning. "I like it."
"You okay with me calling the match?"
"You're the heel, it's your home turf--fine with me."
They talked for a while longer, swapping stories, and at the end of the conversation Clark was convinced that Christopher Weiss was a very decent guy.
Slipknot, as it turned out, was another story.
"Good grief, man, what happened to you?" Guy said as Clark gingerly pulled off his sweatshirt back in the safety of their motel room that night.
Clark looked in the mirror, grimacing at the black and blue prints all over his torso. "Weiss fights stiff, I guess."
"That's not stiff, that's rigid," said Guy. "Is he out to get you or something?"
"I don't think so. He seems like a nice guy and all. He's just no good at pulling his punches. And when he's using those ropes as flails--well, knotted ropes aren't exactly a subtle instrument."
Bruce frowned. "That's pretty incompetent," he said. He reached out and prodded one of the darker bruises on Clark's shoulder, and Clark winced. "You should ask Waller to put you with someone else."
"Yeah, she seemed like the kind of person who'd be really amenable to that," Clark said. "I'll be okay." To be honest, he was more worried Waller would pair Weiss up with one of the other visiting wrestlers: Guy was tough as nails and seemed to practically enjoy getting some real punishment, but Eddie might rupture something if he took some of Weiss's shots. And Bruce--
Clark didn't like to think of seeing Bruce covered with bruises at all, somehow.
"Hey!" Clark yelped as Guy tugged down the back of his sweatpants.
"Dude, your ass is black and blue," Guy informed him. "He actually literally kicked your ass."
"Thank you for the update, Guy. Better that side than the other," Clark said. This started Guy on a long story about how, after taking a hard fall on concrete from the top ropes, he had managed to bruise his dick, which at least managed to distract Eddie and Bruce from staring at Clark's beaten body.
But when he took his shower, he couldn't help but quickly check to make sure he hadn't met the same fate.
: : :
The Suicide Squad put on two shows a week, which gave Clark almost enough time to heal up between shows. And he had to admit the way the tiny crowd popped when he appeared--a "big time wrestler" they'd actually seen on tv--was kind of fun. The venue was...intimate, but that had its benefits．However, being a mass of bruises after each match was distinctly unpleasant, and while Weiss was a good enough guy, he wasn't a lot of fun to work with. Clark wasn't the only one not enjoying himself, either.
"Snart's okay," said Guy. "But I don't get to have any mic time, and without mic time the Warrior's just a weird-looking dude with face paint."
"Vickers is an unimaginative bore," Bruce complained as they wolfed down Thai takeout.
"You say that about everyone but Kent," Guy said.
"That's because it's true about everyone but Kent," Bruce countered calmly. "But Vickers is even worse than most people."
"At least the take is pretty good," Eddie pointed out. Eddie seemed to be the only person enjoying his matches--he and the Thinker had established a snarky, prickly chemistry that was making them both happy.
"It's true," Clark had to admit. Waller ran a tight ship, and everything was well-organized and efficient. It wasn't her fault Weiss didn't know how to pull a punch.
"How are the t-shirt sales going?" Guy said to Eddie. Especially at smaller promotions, wrestlers were allowed to put up tables hawking their merchandise--most of which were self-made, of course--and selling autographs.
"Sold another three tonight," Eddie said proudly.
"You really need a shirt," Guy said to Clark, making a motion to slug him on the arm, quickly aborted when he caught sight of the bruises again. "Nothing beats seeing fans wearing your shirt."
"Max hasn't seen fit to make one for me yet," said Clark, "Unlike certain champions and top heels I could name," he said with a grin. Warrior shirts were currently the JLI's best-seller, and even Billionaire Brucie shirts (with a fake tux on the front) were selling fairly well.
"Make your own," said Eddie, waving his green shirt dotted with question marks in the air. "It's an investment, man!"
Clark shrugged. "The autographs and photos are enough," he said. He actually loved signing autographs and posing for pictures, especially with the kids who looked at you as if you were really some kind of hero. "Besides, what would I even put on it? A cow? 'Country Clark Kent' isn't a gimmick I want associated with a shirt forever."
"You need to look ahead," Bruce said to him as Guy and Eddie started bickering about who had the better shirt design.
"I'll be happy to just make it through the next show," Clark grumbled.
Bruce took another bite of pad thai and chewed thoughtfully before speaking again. "Then I'll just have to look ahead for both of us," he said.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-08 04:03 am (UTC)Oh man, the E.T. joke. T_T "What is E.T. short for?" kind of has two meanings--"What is the term 'E.T.' an abbreviation of?" and "Why is E.T. short?" ("What are you doing that for?" means "Why are you doing that?" in slangy English). Eddie answered the first meaning but not the second.
Oh English and your stupid puns... :)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-08 09:55 am (UTC)Also for the record I don't find the tension between Clark and Bruce torturous or slow. So you know there's someone on the other side. They have to get to know one another, and in Bruce's case really trust one another. That takes a while.
Especially in this universe without daring-do to speed up the admiration and critical situations ripe for bonding on some levels.
The only thing I felt short of, is that part 9 leaves us with Clark sad anda touch bewildered bewildered and part 10 starts off with a different tone. And you kind of have to extrapolate Bruce having treated Clark somewhat distantly (and as a non favourite) for weeks. Only for Guy to go in this installment 'Dude, Kent is obviously your favourite. You're not ever happy with anyone else'. And Bruce in his utter irritation to admit it.
Sometimes the great big Bat, has a swathe of huffy superior feline in him. It explains so much.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-10 12:34 am (UTC)Ahh, yes, that's part of what it is! There are few life and death situations that will force that kind of trust to a crisis--and now I definitely know when it does happen, so thank you for that! *grin*
And you kind of have to extrapolate Bruce having treated Clark somewhat distantly (and as a non favourite) for weeks.
Yeah, I struggled with this! I didn't really want to spend a couple of chapters showing them not interacting, so I glossed over it quite a bit. My beta says I have a tendency to skip angst given the chance, and it's definitely true here. :)